


Dear Scorpius Malfoy

by Super_Theater_Nerd



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Albus is Connor, Cursed Child Characters, Dear Evan Hansen Plot, Draco is Heidi, Gen, Ginny is cynthia, Harry is Larry, I don't ship Lily and Scorpius, I'm not super familiar with Harry Potter, It just kind of happened, Karl is Jared, Lily is Zoe, Muggle Technology is A Thing Now in the Wizarding World, Rose is Alana, Scorpius is Evan, dear evan hansen au, fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:56:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Theater_Nerd/pseuds/Super_Theater_Nerd
Summary: Dear Scorpius Malfoy,Today is going to be an amazing day and here's why.Cursed Child Characters with Dear Evan Hansen Plot





	Dear Scorpius Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for checking out this story. I love Dear Evan Hansen and I've recently gotten into Cursed Child and Harry Potter. Hopefully this is decent, but warning, I might get some things wrong. Also, it's important to note that in this story, muggle technology like computers and cellphones, and the internet are things that the wizarding community have accepted. They have their own social media things. Now without further ado, let's begin.

Dear Scorpius Malfoy,  
Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why: Because today, all you have to do is be yourself.  
\---

It was a lie. It was such a lie. I hated lying. I couldn’t lie to Dr. Sherman.

\---  
But also confident. That’s important. And interesting. Easy to talk to. Approachable. But mostly be yourself. That the big number one. Be yourself. Be true to yourself. Also, though, don’t worry about whether your hands are going to get sweaty for no reason and you can’t make it stop no matter what you do, because they’re not going to get sweaty, so I don’t know why you’re bringing it up, because it’s not going to happen, because all you have to do is be yourself.  
\---

Not only did I ramble in real life, I rambled in my writing. 

\---  
I’m not even going to worry about it because seriously it’s not like it’s going to be like that one time you had the perfect chance to introduce yourself to Lily Potter at the orchestra concert last year, when you waited afterward to talk to her and tell her how good she was and you were going to pretend to be super casual like your didn’t even know her name, like she would introduce herself and you’d be like, “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Millie, you said your name was Millie?” And then she’d be like, “No, it’s Lily, I said Lily.” And then you’d be like, “Oh, I see, I thought you said Millie because I’m very busy with other stuff right now is the thing.” But then you didn’t end up saying anything to her anyway, because you were scared your hands were sweaty- which they weren’t that sweaty until you started worrying that they were sweaty, which made them sweaty, so you put them under the hand dryer in the bathroom, but then they were still sweaty, they were just very warm now, as well.  
\---

I deleted it all. If I showed it to Dr. Sherman he would have showed it to my dad and tell him how I was getting worse. Yes, there was supposed to be confidentiality but who believed it? I didn’t.

Summer was finally over and even though it was lonely and boring, I didn’t see Dr. Sherman the entire time. He was the school therapist who had been hired after mental health became a concern in the late 2000s. After three suicides and two attempts in two years the school decided that offering therapy would be a good idea. On average only two or three students met with him consistently all year. Still, it was enough to keep him around. 

Since my second year I had met with him twice a week. Mondays from 2-3. And Thursdays from 5-6. All of my professors told Professor McGonagall that I was an anxious mess in all of my classes which wasn’t false. I talked to barely anyone and stuttered my way through any conversations. Professor McGonagall then talked with my dad and the next year I had to go to therapy. 

My anxiety hadn’t gotten any better over the years. It probably got worst, actually. I could tell that Dr. Sherman could tell. Halfway through my fifth year he decided to try something new. In addition to everything we were already doing, I had to write letters to myself everyday. 

When he told me this I asked if I absolutely had to do it everyday. The answer was yes. Everyday I had to write: Dear Scorpius Malfoy, today is going to be a good day and here’s why, and explain why it would be a good day. Easier said than done. Most days I woke up and couldn’t think of anything good about the day ahead of me. So, I normally threw together some happy shit and gave it to him.

He could see through my happy nonsense and everytime I turned stuff like that into him he would sigh and tell me that I shouldn’t lie. That I should have explained why I didn’t think the day would be great but include a silver lining. But it was so hard. 

The empty white cast on my left arm itched. I still hadn’t gotten used to it after a month. As far as everyone was concerned, I fell out of a tree. That was a lie. Well, it did involve a tree, but I… I ummmm… I fell. Nothing else happened I just fell. It was a pretty bad break. I fell from really high up. I should have died. But I didn’t. 

Over the summer, Dr. Sherman told me that I didn’t have to write letters to myself. I could if I wanted to but he knew I wouldn’t. All he asked was that I wrote at least one. It didn’t have to be long, it just had to be something. And even though I had done basically nothing all summer I hadn’t written it yet. 

“So you just decided not to eat last night.”

I looked up from my laptop and saw my dad above me. He was holding two galleons in his right hand. And I had been caught. He’d left me the money last night before going to work at the hospital. 

“Oh,” I looked up, made eye contact, then immediately looked down again. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“Scorpius, you’re going into your sixth year. You have to be able to order food for yourself when I’m not here. You don’t even have to use the phone. You can do it all online now.”

True, just recently, the wizarding community had started using muggle technology like computers and telephones. But even if you did order food online, you’d have to speak to someone when they came. And you’d have to stand there awkwardly, in painful silence as they made change. Then they’d hand you the change and you’d get nervous and trop the money and then you’re on the ground trying to pick it up. But your hands are sweaty so you drop it again and now the deliverer is silently judging you. 

Thinking about all the ways it could go wrong had made my appetite disappear.  
Dad sighed loudly. He was disappointed. Great, just great. “This is what you’re supposed to be working on, Scorpius. Talking to people. Engaging with people. Not running away from people.”

“I know, I’ll try to be better.”

“I know, and that’s why I spoke with Professor McGonagall and Dr. Sherman and scheduled you and appointment with him for Saturday at one.”

“I was already going to meet with him on Monday.”

“I...We just thought you could use something sooner.”

Turns out my dad thought I was a hopeless case just like everyone else. It felt great. 

“Have you been writing those letters to yourself?” He tried to sound more positive, “Dear Scorpius Malfoy, today is going to be a good day and here’s why.”

“I, uh started one. I’ll finish it at school”

Once again not a lie, I had written the first sentence. 

“Those letters are important. They’re going to help you build your confidence.”

“I guess.”

They really didn’t. They were just daily reminders that I had so little self confidence that I had to lie to myself on paper.

“I don’t want another year of your teachers telling me that you sat alone on weekends in your dorm.”

“Well, neither do I.” 

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. It kind of just did. When you have no friends, there’s not really anything for you to do on the weekends. Turns out that the librarian would kick you out if you spent too much time studying in the Library. And yes, sitting alone on your bed on a Saturday night was sad, but you didn’t have to talk to anyone. 

“Do you have all of your things together?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m fine,” I tried to say confidently.  
There was an awkward amount of time without either of us speaking. Dad went around picking things up off the ground and organizing the few things I had in my room. I looked down at my lap. I busied myself by playing with the hem of my shirt. 

“Would you stop looking like you just witnessed your cat dying?”

“What?”

“Could you at least try to be just a little optimistic. The world won’t fall apart if you try if that’s what you’re worried about.” He was in full dad mode. It was weird. “So, let’s not give up before we’ve even tried. What’s something you could today on the train that would be putting yourself out there?”

“Ummm… I….” I really didn’t want to do anything even remotely like that. Ever. My hands started sweating. “I don’t know…. You tell me.”

I shouldn’t have said that. 

“Okay…” He thought for a second, “I know. Why don’t you go around and ask the other kids to sign your cast. Would that work?”

“Perfect.”

“Great, that’s good. I’m proud of you already.”

“Oh, good.”

This was going to be an interesting year. I could feel it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed that. I'll try to update somewhat often, but I'm sorry if I don't. Leave a comment if you so desire.  
> Thanks.


End file.
